Duckham Asylum
by Celey
Summary: An asylum is built to hold the likes of Darkwing's rogue gallery. Within its walls, the Fearsome Four undergo psychological evaluations.
1. Megavolt

It had taken a few years of putting up with the insanity of the supervillains in St. Canard before anyone realized what they really needed to do. The so-called supervillain prison simply wasn't enough to withstand the powers of Megavolt, Bushroot, and Liquidator. The prison also did not take steps in quelling Quackerjack's ever-growing insanity. It was clear that what St. Canard really needed was a maximum security asylum for the criminally insane. And so Duckham Asylum was built.

* * *

><p>"Patient interview number one: Elmo Sputterspark, also known as Megavolt. Elmo is one of the most dangerous villains in St. Canard. He is known to believe in the liberation of lightbulbs and electrical appliances from what he sees as slavery. Brain scans have shown increased electrical activity in his brain, which possibly contribute to his amazing works of genius. However, further study has revealed areas of the brain that are scarred and damaged. I am not sure if any amount of therapy and medicine will be able to help Elmo Sputterspark," Dr. Youngbeak spoke loudly and clearly for the tape recorder.<p>

She heard a knock on the door and set the tape recorder to the side, still recording. She opened it, letting in two guards who were holding the arms of Megavolt dressed only in orange asylum clothing. He looked somewhat dazed and out of it. Dr. Youngbeak glanced at the guards questioningly.

"The warden wants him kept on a sedative to keep him calm. For good reason, too," he bent over to whisper in Dr. Youngbeak's ear, "We haven't been able to fully negate his powers because he needs the occasional jolt of electricity to keep his body functioning. We'll be staying here to keep an eye on him, and keep you safe, Dr. Youngbeak."

She sighed, "Very well."

She moved back to sit in her chair. Megavolt was placed into the seat across the table from her. The guards stood against the wall with stoic expressions on their faces.

"Hello there, Elmo. I'm Dr. Youngbeak. How are you feeling today?" Dr. Youngbeak asked, a smile on her bill.

"Huh? Oh, uh… fine, I guess. Kind of tired, though," Megavolt yawned, his eyes drooping slightly.

"It's good that you are doing all right, but you need to keep awake for our session, all right?" Dr. Youngbeak said, folding her hands on the table.

"All right," Megavolt said, trying to keep his eyes open. He stretched a little bit. The guards shifted uneasily but relaxed once Megavolt relaxed his arms back at his sides.

"Good. Now, do you know why you're here?"

Megavolt blinked for a moment, then looked around. He eyed the guards warily, then looked back at Dr. Youngbeak.

"Uh, well… I guess I'm in some kind of prison or something. So, I probably robbed a place or put the lights out of the city again," Megavolt said, attempting to stifle another yawn.

"You… really don't remember why you're here? Or how you got here? Or where you are?" Dr. Youngbeak blinked, having never received such a response before.

Megavolt shrugged, "Yeah. Nothing new there, though. Uh… Who are you, again?"

"Dr. Youngbeak."

"Right," Megavolt paused, "Who am I again?"

Dr. Youngbeak tried not to stare at him like he had three heads. She cleared her throat.

"You're Elmo Sputterspark," she said.

"No, that's not right," Megavolt said, looking thoughtful.

"Yes. I have your files, right here. I didn't realize that you had such…" Dr. Youngbeak began, but Megavolt suddenly seemed to light up.

"Oh yeah! I remember, now! I'm Megavolt! Master of electricity!" He started laughing maniacally, then narrowed his eyes at the fluorescent lights that lit up the room.

"And I have friends to rescue," he mumbled, sparking dangerously.

"Oh no, you don't, Megavolt!" The guards were on him quickly.

"Let go of me, you oppressors! Let go!" He was sparking a little more at this point, but the guards had taken the precaution of wearing protective rubber clothing and dragged him out of the room.

* * *

><p>"Patient interview number two: Elmo Sputterspark, also known as Megavolt. It was disappointing to have had our first session cut so short. I feel that the session has offered an immense amount of insight into Elmo Sputterspark's psyche, though. I can't imagine what it must be like to have these frequent memory lapses. His mind must have gone through quite a few changes in order to cope with this problem. I think keeping him on a sedative is the wisest course of action. The doctors here at Duckham Asylum have theorized that the less Elmo's brain is stimulated, the better. It will give any recently damaged brain tissue a chance to heal, and keep him from causing any further damage. Beyond that, I'm not sure just yet," Dr. Youngbeak said.<p>

She waited for the guards to bring Megavolt to her. After a few minutes of waiting, she checked her watch.

_Odd,_ she thought, _They should be here by now. _

A guard knocked, then open the door.

"Hey, Dr. Youngbeak. Your appointment with Megavolt," he cringed at seeing her glare, "I mean, Elmo, has been canceled. He got really testy today, and we had to give him extra sedative to calm him down. He's out like a light."

"Please refrain from making distasteful puns about the patients, Mr. Barker," Dr. Youngbeak reprimanded while rubbing her temples.

"Sorry, Dr. Youngbeak. Should we reschedule for tomorrow, then?" Mr. Barker asked, looking a little sheepish.

"Yes. Bring him by tomorrow. Same time. Try not to rile him up next time."

* * *

><p>The next day, Megavolt was brought in by two guards. Again, he looked dazed and sleepy. He was sporting a few bandages as well. Dr. Youngbeak tried not to look alarmed by the bandages. She knew that the guards probably had to get rough with Megavolt if he wouldn't cooperate. Still, it was hard to create a safe and comfortable atmosphere if the patient was getting beat up left and right.<p>

"Hello there, Elmo. It's me, Dr. Youngbeak." She was slow and careful in her speech. She didn't want to rile him up again.

"Uh, yeah… I think I remember you," Megavolt said, a thoughtful expression on his face again, "I think. Yeah… Hi."

"Good. That's very good. Last time we met we didn't get to have a very long session. I apologize if I upset you in any way," Dr. Youngbeak said, giving him a reassuring smile.

"Huh? Oh, uh… I don't think I was upset. I don't think," Megavolt said, then yawned.

Dr. Youngbeak decided not to remind him of how the session ended or of the behavior the guards reported yesterday. She proceeded carefully, figuring the best course of action would be to establish a trusting doctor-patient relationship.

"Well, I am definitely happy about that. Our goal here at Duckham Asylum is to create a comfortable atmosphere for our patients. We are trying to help people, like you, get better. Feel better."

Megavolt blinked, then seemed to chuckle a bit.

"Sorry to bust your bulb, doctor, but I don't think you can help me. I'd thank you for trying, but… you know, on some level… I kind of like being this way," he said, smirking a little bit.

She tried to hide her frown by burying her face close to her clipboard and writing notes. She returned her eyes to him, keeping a steady, neutral expression.

"Why don't you think I can help you, Elmo?"

Megavolt started to say something, then his face went somewhat blank. Then, he looked confused.

"Umm… Help me with what?"

Dr. Youngbeak kept her patience, "You said that you didn't think I could help you feel better."

Megavolt blinked, then nodded.

"Oh yeah. Yeah. You can't help me. I mean, I KNOW I'm insane, and even I can't do anything about it, really. With all the times I've short-circuited… Well, you don't recover from that. If it wasn't for the electricity running through my body and my brain, I'm sure I'd be more of a vegetable than Bushroot by now." He didn't sound bitter about this, only accepting of it.

Dr. Youngbeak took down more notes. She looked up, noticing that Megavolt went from looking casual and calm to irritated.

"Is something wrong, Elmo?"

"I just remembered… your stupid guards made me take a shower yesterday." He shot a glare at them. He appeared to be sparking slightly, and he clenched his fists.

"Elmo, take a deep breath. If you start getting angry again, you'll be forced back to your cell. You don't want that, do you?"

Megavolt looked back at her; he still looked annoyed, but he stopped sparking. He attempted to cross his arms over his chest, but the rubber handcuffs impeded him somewhat.

"This isn't really much better, but I guess it's good to have someone to talk to, instead of listening to the poor lights screaming over me in pain and anguish all the time."

He sounded dejected and miserable now. He rested his head on the table and sighed.

Dr. Youngbeak wrote a few more notes while considering her next words carefully. She didn't want to feed into his fantasies, but one of the most important things in his treatment plan was keeping him calm. Perhaps after they had made more progress, she could work on curbing his obsession with electrical objects. She nodded to herself.

"Elmo… Would you feel better if we… freed… the lights in your cell? We can also free the lights in this room, too. We can't do it for the entirety of Duckham Asylum, not yet, anyway. But we can do that much." She braced herself for his reaction.

Megavolt seemed to perk up, instead of getting upset about the other lights not getting freed.

"You would do that, really?" he asked, a smile coming to his face.

"Yes. We want to make your stay here peaceful," she noticed the look on his face, "And for your friends, too."

He smiled again, "Well, that's great! Thank you so much… uh… What's your name again?"

"Dr. Youngbeak."

"Well, thank you, Dr. Youngbeak. It's good to have someone understand what it's like for them, for once," Megavolt said, unable to stop himself from smiling. He yawned after a moment.

Dr. Youngbeak decided to lead the conversation away from sympathizing with light bulbs.

"You were saying something earlier about the guards making you take a shower…" she began.

"Yeah," Megavolt narrowed his eyes, irritated again, "They made me short-circuit. They should've waited until I was out of juice or better yet… THERE IS SUCH A THING AS DE-IONIZED WATER, YOU MORONS!"

He seemed to spark uncontrollably for a moment before noticing an unusual look on the doctor's face that seemed half-way between fear and disapproval. He calmed down. Dr. Youngbeak held up a hand to stop the guards from grabbing Megavolt.

"He's calm, guys. Let him be," she ordered.

The guards backed off but kept even closer watch over Megavolt.

"Thanks, doc. Sorry about that," he said.

"It's okay, Elmo, but please try to control your temper," Dr. Youngbeak said.

Megavolt nodded, his voice seemed to slip into a more casual tone.

"A little science lesson for you, doctor. Tap water isn't just composed of H2O; it contains some minerals which are composed of metallic elements. This means there's ions in tap water. Ions have an electric charge. This is precisely why you don't drop a toaster in a tub full of tap water. I don't use the water you and everyone else does. I make sure all of the water I use to bathe with is as de-ionized as possible, so I don't short-circuit." He shot another glare at the guards.

"I'll be sure to write in an order that makes sure to provide you with de-ionized water to bathe with, Elmo. I am very sorry for that little mess-up. We are still learning about you and your specific needs that come as a result of your powers," Dr. Youngbeak said, scribbling more notes.

"Much appreciated."

Dr. Youngbeak looked at her watch, "Well, looks like our session has ended for today. I'll see you around, Elmo."

* * *

><p>"Patient interview number ten: Elmo Sputterspark also known as Megavolt. I feel like I have made some progress in establishing Elmo's trust. His temper has been flaring less and less during our sessions, and I find this to be very encouraging. The guards report that he continues to talk to any electrical object or light he can find, though, which indicates that we have not yet made any progress on curbing his insanity. He will never get better unless some hard subjects are broached. I will proceed slowly and hope that…"<p>

There was a knock on the door.

"Come in!" Dr. Youngbeak called, and the door opened.

Two guards walked into the lantern-lit room with Megavolt. They had him take a seat and went to their positions against the wall. Megavolt looked as sleepy as usual but content.

"Hello there, Elmo. I'm…"

"Dr. Youngbeak, if I remember right," Megavolt said, looking to her for confirmation.

"That's right. Very good. I'm glad that you remember. How are you doing today?" Dr. Youngbeak looked over the files she had on Megavolt, mentally preparing questions in her head.

"Oh, good, I suppose. It is kind of boring around here, but I haven't short-circuited for what? A week?"

"About two months," Dr. Youngbeak told him.

"Yeah. I almost feel like a normal person," Megavolt said, then yawned.

"Normal is a relative term, Elmo. I'd like to ask you a couple of questions, if you don't mind," Dr. Youngbeak said, studying him with the careful eye of a psychoanalyst.

"Oh? Well, okay. Go ahead," Megavolt said, a curious expression on his face.

"They might… upset you."

A more alarmed expression crossed Megavolt's rodent-like face. He looked a little more hesitant this time.

"I… guess. Okay. Go for it. Don't ask too many at once, please."

"I won't. Remember that my goal isn't to judge you or hurt you. I'm only trying to get you better," Dr. Youngbeak said, her tone gentle and careful.

Megavolt nodded and took a deep breath to steady himself.

"Elmo, in the past, you have committed crimes from petty theft to first-degree murder. I have to ask… Why?" Dr. Youngbeak glanced at the guards. They were still keeping close watch on Megavolt. This reassured her.

A wild laugh startled both her and the guards.

"You… you want to know why?" His laugh increased in pitch and frequency, sounding maniacal, "Oh, doctor. You had me going there for a minute. I thought you were going to ask me something upsetting!"

Dr. Youngbeak had not expected this sort of response at all. She tried to hide her expression of confusion.

"Please continue," she said, readying her pen.

Megavolt giggled for a little while longer, then he nodded.

"The robberies should be pretty easy to figure out. I mean, a guy needs to eat, you know. Besides that, some people have also confused my liberation of the electrical denizens of St. Canard with stealing, too. Sometimes, the consequence of being labeled a criminal is worth it if you're doing what is ultimately right."

Once again, Dr. Youngbeak avoided turning the conversation to the plight of oppressed inanimate objects.

"Robbing to provide yourself with food isn't necessary, is it, Elmo? You have a brilliant mind. Your IQ score is off the charts. It says here in your case files that you helped to build a time machine, among other things."

Megavolt blushed a little.

"Surely, you could…" Dr. Youngbeak continued, but Megavolt cut her off.

"No. I could not. I'm stark raving mad, doctor. No one is going to hire me, no matter how intelligent I am." The blush seemed to disappear from his face, and he started to look annoyed.

"I… see." Sometimes, she forgot how aware he was of his own lack of sanity. It still confused her at times. It seemed impossible for someone to be aware of their insanity. Perhaps it was because of his high intelligence or maybe his memory problems had something to do with his alternating between being aware and unaware. Perhaps it was both.

"If we could find you a job, Elmo, do you think you would give up a life of crime?"

"Not until I'm sane, which would probably be impossible. And even then, I'm not sure. Crime has been my life since my senior year in high school. Plus, I kind of like being a supervillain. It's fun," Megavolt said, grinning.

"Murdering people is fun?" She tried to sound as neutral and un-judgmental as possible. She was sure she was failing and tried her best not to look ashamed of herself.

"Are you kidding? That's the best part! Not that I'm a serial killer or anything. That'd just be wrong," Megavolt said, in an attempt to be reassuring, "I only kill people who deserve it… and that's only if I'm in the mood for it. I'm not in the mood very often. I don't actually seek out people to kill. It sort of just happens. But anyway, the fun part is devising and building an absolutely _shocking_ death trap, then watching and enjoying the fruits of my labor. The satisfaction from it is simply exhilarating."

Dr. Youngbeak was astonished at the depths of Megavolt's insanity. She scribbed furious notes onto the clipboard and tried not to betray any emotion which might give her feelings about the conversation away.

"Let's talk about your victims, Elmo."

"Sure," Megavolt said, still sounding upbeat.

"Your first victims were an entire family of four," Dr. Youngbeak said, pausing to compose herself.

"And their dog," Megavolt added, "I remember that. There was a dog."

"W-what… could they have possibly done to deserve being killed?"

"Did you see their power bill? I happened upon it entirely by chance while raiding an electric company, but by Tesla's ghost, it was the most horrible thing I had ever seen in my entire life. Can you imagine how much pain and suffering their enslaved appliances must have gone through? They were complete sickos!" Megavolt seemed to be sparking just at the thought of the family.

"The children?" Dr. Youngbeak asked, willing herself to stay calm.

"You think the children were innocent? They were just as guilty as the parents! Besides, as the saying goes… The tree doesn't rot far from the apple! Or something like that. It might have been an orange." He started looking confused. His expression slipped into one of concentration. After a while, he shrugged his shoulders.

Not knowing what to say, she proceeded, "Your next victim, and your last known victim, was a lawyer. A lawyer appointed to you, in fact. What did he do?"

"He called me Sparky," Megavolt said, as if this explained everything.

She was sure something was giving her feelings away. Megavolt looked at her, in a manner that almost seemed concerned.

"You okay, doctor? Did I say something wrong?" he asked, his face scrunching up in concentration again.

Dr. Youngbeak thought for a moment. She decided to nudge things in a different direction.

"Elmo… You have people you care about, don't you?"

Megavolt seemed taken aback by this question, "Huh?"

"People you care about… family? Friends?"

"Family?" Megavolt shot up out of his seat, slamming his hands on the table, "My family? Let me tell you something about family…"

Volts of electricity seemed to surround him. The guards moved in.

"Elmo, sit down!" Dr. Youngbeak said firmly.

Almost automatically, Megavolt sat down. After a moment, he blinked and stopped sparking.

"Ah… um… What were we talking about again?" he asked.

Dr. Youngbeak wrote a note to bring up his family again at some later date and to bring it up as gently as possible.

"We were talking about people you care about. Your friends, in particular," she said, watching him.

"Well, I am friend to all things electrical… Big or small," Megavolt said, looking like he was about to go on some heroic ramble.

Dr. Youngbeak interrupted him, "I would like to talk about those friends, sometime in the future. For right now, do you have any other friends? Non-electrical ones?"

"Other friends?" Megavolt blinked, thinking, "Well… hmm… Hang on. I think I'm remembering something…"

Even after all he said earlier, Dr. Youngbeak couldn't help but feel pity for him. She really hoped he would have some friends, even just…

"Oh yeah! Quacky!" Megavolt said, his eyes seeming to light up.

"Quacky?" Dr. Youngbeak repeated, arching an eyebrow.

"You know, Quackerjack! Oh, and Bushroot! Oh! That liquid guy… Liquidator! Well, I mean, I don't really like him all that much. We don't… err… mix very well, if you know what I mean. Still, I think I can call him a friend. He's nice enough," Megavolt said, his expression thoughtful.

Dr. Youngbeak wrote down a few notes. Treating Megavolt was going to be especially difficult if his only friends, his only support network… were other criminally insane supervillains.

"So, you care about them, then? You don't want to see them hurt, right?"

"That's right! They're my pals. I… oh… well, there were those first ten times with my friend, Quacky." Megavolt blinked, "Yeah. You see, he kept calling me Sparky. So, I kept trying to kill him for it. He just wouldn't die, though. He always escaped or survived somehow. It was infuriating!"

Megavolt sparked for a moment, then the sparks died down.

"But then, he tried to kill me for trying to kill him so many times. He didn't succeed, of course, but we had such a laugh, afterwards. Now, he's my best friend!"

Dr. Youngbeak stared at him outright, "Do you try to kill all your friends?"

"No. I haven't tried killing Bushroot and Liquidator. That would be kind of pointless, anyway, all things considering. I don't try to kill Quacky anymore, even when he calls me Sparky. Don't let him know that he's the only one who can get away with it, though. It'll go to his head," Megavolt informed her.

She paused to jot down a few notes, "Your secret is safe with me."

"I certainly hope so, for your sake, doctor," Megavolt said, then grinned, "Ah, don't worry. Just supervillain humor."

Dr. Youngbeak laughed nervously, "Right. So, other than that, you don't want to see your friends hurt or killed?"

Megavolt nodded, "That's right. I don't know what I'd do without those guys."

Finally, they were getting somewhere. Dr. Youngbeak folded her hands on the table.

"So, Elmo… Has it ever occurred to you that there are other people who have friends?" she asked.

"Uh, yeah. I guess so," Megavolt said, a wary look in his eyes.

"Has it occurred to you that these people also don't want to see their friends hurt or killed?" Dr. Youngbeak continued, looking at him expectantly.

Megavolt nodded slowly, "What's your point?"

"Well, Elmo, my point is that you don't want people hurting or killing your friends. So, why should you be allowed to hurt or kill other people's friends?"

Megavolt stared at her as if she was the crazy one. After a moment, he let out another maniacal laugh. Once again, it startled the guards and Dr. Youngbeak.

"Oh, doctor. Isn't it obvious? I'm a supervillain! My friends are supervillains! It's just the way things are," he said, then let out another wild laugh.

Dr. Youngbeak sighed and looked at her watch.

"It looks like our time is up. I will see you next week, Elmo."

"Okay, later… uh… whoever you are!" Megavolt said, while the guards took him out of the room.

* * *

><p>"Patient interview number twenty-two: Elmo Sputterspark also known as Megavolt. I'm afraid my initial assumptions are coming true. Elmo has not been responding well to anti-psychotics or lithium. The sedative only helps to keep him calm. It would seem that the extensive damage to parts of Elmo's brain are keeping him from getting better. As of right now, we do not yet have the knowledge on how to fix this. We can only prevent further damage from being done by preventing Elmo from short-circuiting and keeping him from overloading his brain with electricity due to his temper or excitement. Elmo will have to remain in Duckham Asylum's care indefinitely."<p>

There was a knock at the door, and with her permission, the guards came in with Megavolt. It was a familiar routine.

"Hello there, Elmo," Dr. Youngbeak began.

"Dr. Youngbeak! It's good to see you!" Megavolt greeted, a big grin on his face.

Dr. Youngbeak smiled at his enthusiasm, "It's good to see you, too, Elmo. I'm glad that you remember me. How…"

"I was thinking, doctor," Megavolt said, interrupting her.

"Oh?" Dr. Youngbeak looked up from her notes.

"Yes, I was thinking… Wait. I lost it. No. Yes. No. Ah… Oh yeah! I was thinking, Dr. Beakyoung, you're my friend, right?" Megavolt said, looking at her with wide, expectant eyes.

"Dr. Youngbeak. Elmo, I'm your doctor, first. But yes, I want to be your friend. Everyone here wants to be your friend, Elmo," she said, wondering what he was up to.

Megavolt glanced at the guards and rolled his eyes, "Yeah. Right."

He turned his gaze away from them in a dismissive manner.

"I was thinking, doctor. Since you're my friend, you should become a supervillain, too!" Megavolt ignored her gaping look, "You could be… Doctor Terror! No, wait. Doctor Despicable. Yeah, I like that. Oh, hey, what about Doctor Megadeath?"

"Elmo, I don't think…" Dr. Youngbeak began, but Megavolt was persistent.

"So, I was thinking about this whole doctor theme for you, you know? You could have like…. A stethoscope that shoots lasers! Wouldn't that be cool? You could be a part of our team! We could be… The Sinister Six! Although, actually, maybe with an extra member… We can all take down that horrible Negaduck. That guy really burns my bulbs," Megavolt said, sparking slightly.

"I'm really not…" Dr. Youngbeak said, frowning.

Megavolt continued, "And we could go on heists together… and try to kill Darkwing Duck… and…"

"Elmo!" Dr. Youngbeak shouted, which got Megavolt's attention.

"Err… You talking to me?" he asked, suddenly confused.

"Yes. Elmo, I do not want to be a supervillain. I like my job as a doctor. My job is to help you," Dr. Youngbeak said, firmly but gently.

Megavolt frowned, "But… You're my friend."

"And friends help each other," Dr. Youngbeak pointed out.

Megavolt narrowed his eyes, "I AM trying to help you. You need to be a supervillain! You're my friend! Argggh… Can't you understand? You're driving me mad!"

Sparks generated around him, "Mad, I tell you! Mad!"

He pointed a single sparking finger at her. The guards sprung into action a little too late.

* * *

><p>"To Do List: Consult grocery list, I need to go grocery shopping today. Organize my notes. File case files alphabetically. Change my bandages."<p>

Dr. Youngbeak strode through the hall of Duckham Asylum with her tape recorder in hand. She was dressed in her usual work attire. Bandages were wrapped around the top part of her head. She also had bandages covering various other areas of her body that had been burned the day Megavolt attacked her. Apparently, one of the guards had given him a little too much extra electricity the day before the attack. It had been two weeks since that attack, but she still insisted on seeing Megavolt. She knew the risks associated with the job when she took it, and she wasn't about to give up on a patient so soon. Megavolt had in the previous sessions seemed bitter towards her, but last session, he had apologized for attacking her. It felt like they had taken two steps back, but they had taken another step forward. She realized progress with Megavolt was going to be even slower than she originally thought.

She sighed and spoke clearly for the tape recorder, "Prepare for Elmo Sputterspark, patient interview number twenty-five."

Seconds later, she heard alarms ringing throughout the asylum. She blinked. Megavolt, in full costume, was running towards her.

"Elmo! What are you doing out of your cell?"

"Can't talk now, Dr. Beaky! Gotta run!" He sprinted past her before turning around in a little backward jog. "I hope you feel better soon!" He shouted at her before facing forward and running away.

Dr. Youngbeak watched as guards took off after him, and she sighed again. Yes. Progress with Megavolt was going to be very slow indeed.

* * *

><p>(Author's Note: I do not own the show or comic Darkwing Duck or any of its characters. Dr. Youngbeak is an OC of mine, but rest assured, there will be NO OC romance in any of these chapters. Dr. Youngbeak is inspired by a video game character from Arkham Asylum. In fact, this entire fanfiction is inspired by the interview tapes with Batman's rogue gallery from the aforementioned video game. Oh. Also, I'm going to put up an obligatory legal disclaimer, just in case. Water and electricity do not go together well, and there are still some risks involved if you're handling electrical equipment with de-ionized water. Especially if you have very little knowledge about science, please do not try to test the little scenario I've presented for you in this fanfiction. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed reading. Please look forward to the next three chapters including the rest of the Fearsome Five minus Negaduck.)<p> 


	2. Liquidator

Dr. Youngbeak looked over the new report she had been sent last week. It was over the supervillain, Liquidator, or Bud Fludd, as he was known before his mutation. The expert team of doctors at Duckham Asylum were utterly puzzled by Bud's condition. He didn't require food to eat or even air to breathe. It was unclear how his mind was able to work when all he consisted of was water. Bud had not been able to give them much information about his condition. Dr. Youngbeak did not believe he was deliberately hiding such information from them. He had been a businessman before his mutation, not a scientist. It was no surprise he had no idea what drove the inner workings of his liquid body.

Dr. Youngbeak turned the tape recorder on, "Patient interview number one: Bud Fludd also known as The Liquidator. Bud Fludd is a member of the Fearsome Five and is considered a very dangerous individual with insatiable greed. This is all I know. I am going into this interview completely blind. I suppose I'll just have to improvise and start off with the usual questions. I am not yet sure how to devise a treatment plan for him or what his possible prognosis is."

She got out her clipboard and pen and waited. There was a knock at the door.

"Please, come in."

A single guard came in with a large jar full of water. He set it down on the table.

"I'll be right outside, Dr. Youngbeak. Call if there's any trouble."

Dr. Youngbeak looked into the jar.

"Bud, are you in there?" She thought she saw a pair of dark blue eyes staring at her.

"Bud?" A gurgling voice said, sounding put off, "Bud? Are you not keeping up with the times? Have you been living under a rock all your days? Then, you needn't worry about your outdated state of mind any longer! The Liquidator is here to keep you informed about the name exchange program! Bud Fludd is old news!"

The eyes seemed more present now, along with the hint of a grin within the water. Dr. Youngbeak took notice of the expression in the water.

"Ah, there you are. I'm Dr. Youngbeak. How are you doing today, Bud?" she asked.

The expression in the jar of water seemed irritated for a few seconds, but eventually, a grin became present on his face. "I am doing fabulous, doctor! You can jar me, you can prod me, but you can't take away my spirit!" he said, swishing around in the jar.

"Well, that's a very good attitude to have," Dr. Youngbeak smiled at him and jotted down some notes. In the back of her mind, she realized Liquidator was going to be a more difficult patient to diagnose and treat than she had originally thought.

"I've always been a glass-is-half-full kind of guy. You will be amazed at what I can put up with!" Liquidator started to amuse himself by creating bubbles in his jar.

"I'm sure I will be. The other doctors here at Duckham Asylum really don't know what to make of you." Dr. Youngbeak said, glancing down at the report again.

Liquidator stopped making bubbles and turned his full attention to addressing Dr. Youngbeak. "That lab came fully equipped with more gizmos and doodads than anything I have ever seen. All of its features were no match for discovering the secret of the one and only Liquidator!" he exclaimed.

Dr. Youngbeak was surprised at how well he was taking his stay in Duckham Asylum. Most patients expressed sadness, discomfort, or anger at being locked up, but Liquidator acted as if he wasn't affected at all.

"Bud, do you know why you're here?" she asked.

"Could it be a) robbing St. Canard blind, b) flooding half the city, or c) the result of interference by a certain meddling, costumed duck? The correct answer is… All of the above!" Liquidator swished in his jar wildly, yet his jar didn't move.

"That is right," Dr. Youngbeak said, noting that Liquidator's manner of speaking seemed oddly commercial-like. "Why do you speak like that?"

"Commercials are the most persuasive advertising that there is! The Liquidator prides himself in being able to make that sale… in everything he does!"

"I see." She wrote down some notes and wondered if Liquidator might be obsessive-compulsive, in that he appeared to be compelled to speak that way, as if he couldn't help himself. She tapped her pen on her clipboard and thought. "You don't sound very sorry about what you've done to be put in here."

"And why should I be? The Liquidator gets everything he wants… fame and fortune all for the low, low price of a little lock-up time and some mild discomfort, courtesy of Darkwing Duck." Liquidator's eyes narrowed a bit at mentioning Darkwing, "Oooh, one of these days Darkwing's lifetime guarantee will be null and void!"

Dr. Youngbeak noticed her patient was getting agitated and tried to take the discussion in a new direction. "As far as your crime record is concerned, Bud, you haven't committed murder before. There are several counts of attempted murder on Darkwing Duck. But this is more than what could be said for other members of the Fearsome Five. I think it is a very good thing that you have held life in such high regard. I really don't think you should change that for anything," Dr. Youngbeak said, taking down a few notes.

Liquidator's facial features formed an expression of surprise before becoming thoughtful.

"You are… right," he said, "I'm not a killer. I like giving lifetime guarantees, doctor."

"You should be proud of yourself," Dr. Youngbeak said, feeling encouraged by the Liquidator's admission to a "no-killing" policy.

"It's not entirely honorable. Less people in the world means less customers for the Liquidator, which means less people to buy my products. Besides, four out of five supervillains would disagree with you," Liquidator said, smiling.

Dr. Youngbeak frowned for a moment, noting that her watch indicated that time was up.

"It looks like we're out of time for today, Bud. I'll see you again, next week," she said, opening the door to let the guard in.

"The Liquidator cannot make that a 100% guarantee." The jar of water let out a quiet, bubbly chuckle.

* * *

><p>"Patient interview number two: Bud Fludd also known as the Liquidator. So much has happened in the time since I last saw Bud that I scarcely know where to begin. The guards have reported a few nights of Bud screaming out for someone to help him. It would seem that even in his unusual, liquid body, he still requires sleep and is able to undergo some form of REM. Our doctors here at Duckham Asylum have yet to figure out how or why. They have made little head-way into figuring out how Bud's body works. In any case, it was during another test in the laboratory that Bud attempted an escape. Luckily, the guards managed to freeze him, crush him, and trap him back into the jar." Dr. Youngbeak paused for a moment, wondering if the Liquidator was capable of feeling pain in his liquid body. She was unhappy about that thought.<p>

She sighed, "Today, I will talk to Bud about his nightmares and about his attempted escape. I still have yet to figure out a suitable treatment plan for him. The doctors are hesitant about administering conventional medicine to Bud as they have no idea how it will affect him. This is a frustrating obstacle, but it cannot be helped."

The guard knocked at the door, then came in with the jar containing the Liquidator. He set the jar on the table, nodded to Dr. Youngbeak, then left to stand outside the door. The Liquidator's face was visible within the jar. He looked annoyed.

"Hello, Bud. You don't look like you're doing so well, today," Dr. Youngbeak commented.

"My get-out-of-jail-free card did not work as advertised," Liquidator said with a gurgling sort of huff.

"Yes. I heard that you tried to escape. I know that being locked up isn't a picnic, but you're unwell, Bud. You have caused the city of St. Canard a lot of trouble, and you need to realize that there are consequences to that." Dr. Youngbeak watched the face in the jar scowl at her.

"I know there are consequences. The Liquidator wasn't born yesterday," Liquidator said, starting to appear cheerful again, "But supervillains everywhere agree, escaping the consequences is much better than having to deal with them."

"I'm sure many ordinary criminals feel the same way."

Liquidator's body seemed to almost boil in the jar. He looked intimidating, despite being trapped in the jar.

"Ordinary? Can ordinary criminals flood a portion of the city? Can ordinary criminals give the masked moron a run for his money?" After a moment, Liquidator stopped boiling and looked frustrated, "I want out of this damn jar! Ordinary criminals don't have to put up with this nonsense! This is undignified for a high-quality super villain such as myself!"

"If we weren't afraid you'd flee, we'd try putting you in more comfortable accommodations. I am really sorry that you have to be stuck in such a confinement," Dr. Youngbeak began, but the Liquidator scoffed.

"Research suggests that if the good doctor was really sorry, she would let the Liquidator out of here."

Dr. Youngbeak finished taking some notes, giving him a steady look, "No. Letting you out would only hurt you, not to mention everyone else in St. Canard."

"Oh, and what makes you so sure that, as far as things go regarding me personally, being in here is better than being out there?" Liquidator said, raising a watery brow.

"You are not likely to change your criminal tendencies without treatment. A criminal lifestyle, by nature, leads to a path of self-destruction. A criminal is compelled to be greedy and self-serving, which often isolates the people around them. This results in living a lonely life. Greed will not lead to happiness. You might get what you want, and then find yourself wanting more and more. Soon, you'll find that no matter what you get, you'll never be happy." Dr. Youngbeak folded her hands on the table and watched the Liquidator. He seemed to be considering her words.

I don't really buy into that money can't buy you happiness thing," Liquidator said after a moment of thought, "But… you might be right about the isolating people part."

For a brief second, Dr. Youngbeak could've sworn she saw sadness in his watery face, but it was gone as quickly as she had noticed it. "You're taking a step in the right direction, Bud."

"I'm still not happy about being here," Liquidator grumbled, "This jar seems to be getting smaller each time I get put in it."

Dr. Youngbeak tried to hide her alarm. If the jar really seemed like it was getting smaller to Liquidator, it was possible that he was starting to develop claustrophobia. It would not be beneficial to the patient to encourage a phobia. She thought about it and spoke carefully.

"I will speak to the Duckham Asylum board members and see if we can't find a larger container to put you in. I cannot make any promises. It will be especially difficult, too, given how much of an escape risk you are."

Her response seemed to appease Liquidator, and he was back to grinning a friendly, salesman-like grin.

"Now, there's an offer I can't refuse. No guarantee necessary, doctor. I appreciate your cooperation!"

"And I appreciate yours, Bud. I hope you continue to be cooperative. Now, then, I want to talk to you about your nightmares," Dr. Youngbeak said, pen ready.

"The Liquidator suspects you were supplied misinformation. I have no nightmares! Just pleasant dreams of sandy white beaches, babes, and lots and lots of cold, hard cash!" He looked as if he was picturing the scene he described at that moment.

_So much for cooperation, _Dr. Youngbeak thought and sighed.

"The guards reported that you were screaming out for help in your sleep. Either you are hiding something from me or you truly do not remember your nightmares." She spoke in an authoritative tone, and her eyes studied Liquidator's expression for any sign of slipping or twitching.

The watery salesman's expression disappeared in the water, "Inquiring minds wish to know the time."

"Your session isn't over yet, Bud," Dr. Youngbeak said, her tone softening a little in an attempt to make him feel more comfortable.

"Recurring nightmares do come included with the Liquidator," the water canine said, "Most of them are about my initial transformation from ordinary businessman to watery super villain. It was… a very painful process."

He went silent.

Dr. Youngbeak decided it would be best not to press the issue at that time. She jotted down a reminder to bring up the subject again later.

"Let's talk about how you treat your customers," she said.

A wide grin appeared in the water, then, "The Liquidator prides himself in quality customer service!"

Once again, Dr. Youngbeak struggled to keep her feelings neutral in the discussion. "I think your customers might disagree."

Liquidator rolled his eyes and chuckled, "Well, doctor, my deals are to die for, and my merchandise is top-quality. What more could my customers want?"

"How about not being threatened? Have your business ethics ever been fair, Bud?" Dr. Youngbeak asked, taking a look through her report.

"All's fair in love and war, and the corporate world is definitely a war zone!" Liquidator said, looking amused.

"I don't think it's quite like that," Dr. Youngbeak said, before glancing at her watch, "And it looks like our session is over with for today. I'll see you next week."

"A note to all the viewers at home: Doctors do not come included with business sense OR the ability to accurately predict the future!" Bubbly laughter echoed in the room and in the halls, as the jar was carried off.

* * *

><p>"Patient interview number ten: Bud Fludd also known as the Liquidator. Since Darkwing Duck brought him in after his escape two weeks ago, Bud has been in a bad mood. He taunts the guards and other staff at Duckham Asylum. I'm not sure how we can stop him from doing this. Opening his jar has been deemed as too risky to be condoned anymore. No further laboratory tests will be performed on him. He is to remain in his jar… indefinitely." Dr. Youngbeak narrowed her eyes, remembering how angry she had been when the board members made that decision, "I have been trying to get this decision overturned because it is inhumane. Bud Fludd is not just a puddle of water; he is a person. And he has been showing signs of claustrophobia. His mental state will worsen, and he could possibly become more dangerous, if he is not allowed out of that jar every once in a while or at least provided with more spacious accommodations."<p>

The guard came in with the jar and set it on the table. Dr. Youngbeak blinked and took a good look at the guard. He was not the same as the one that usually brought the Liquidator in.

"Where is Mr. Piggle?" she asked, concerned.

"He's in the hospital. Critical injuries. We're not sure he'll pull through," the new guard said.

Liquidator looked ever so cheerful, "The Liquidator offers his condolences. He was fun while he lasted."

Dr. Youngbeak shot him a stern look, "He's not dead, yet, Bud." She looked back to the guard, "What happened?"

"I'll give you two guesses," the guard said.

"Quackerjack and Megavolt?" Dr. Youngbeak's eyes widened in alarm, "They've escaped?"

"They did yesterday. Weren't you here?" the guard asked.

"No. I wasn't. It was my day off. How could this have happened? They shouldn't have been able to break out at the same time."

"Megavolt and Quackerjack: they will shock and amaze!" the Liquidator said. His bubbly voice and advertisement jargon was rattling Dr. Youngbeak's nerves further. She took a deep breath and mentally counted to ten.

"Well, they were in the rec room…" the guard began but visibly cringed when the small duck woman's eyes narrowed.

"They were in the rec room…together? I have specifically ordered that Megavolt and Quackerjack never, never be in the same room together. They have separate meal times and separate rec room times. Who messed this up?"

"Well, I don't…" the guard quickly shut his mouth again.

Dr. Youngbeak turned her gaze the jar, "I'm sorry, Bud, but our appointment is canceled. We will meet next week at this time."

"No apologies necessary; the Liquidator does accept refunds as long as money isn't involved!" The water in the jar bobbed.

Dr. Youngbeak left Liquidator with the guard and stormed out of the room.

* * *

><p>"Patient interview number twelve: Bud Fludd also known as the Liquidator. The board remains stubborn about their decision. Bud has been increasingly edgy, lately. He speaks faster; his movement is constant. I fear he is getting close to a breaking point. I wish I could prescribe him something to alleviate his anxiety. I can only hope talk therapy will help calm him down." Dr. Youngbeak set the tape recorder down on the table and waited for the guard to come in. She wondered how Mr. Piggle was doing; she had heard his condition had been stabilized, but he was still in no shape to come back to work. The guard from a couple of weeks ago came in with the jar of Liquidator and left to wait outside the door.<p>

"Hellooooo, doctor! Are you feeling mad, sad, or glad? Whatever you are feeling, everything will be okay, for the Liquidator is here! Yes, the Liquidator, now in a convenient portable container! Perfect for storing in dark, terrible asylums!" The water in the jar was bubbling with no sign of the Liquidator's face.

Dr. Youngbeak had to stop and think to sort out what Liquidator was saying. He was speaking as fast as someone holding an auction.

"Bud, I realize you're feeling cooped up…"

"Why, sure! But the Liquidator always comes included with a plan! Escape is a 100% guarantee!" Liquidator said, his expression revealed as he bobbed up and down in the jar.

"Let's steer the topic away from escaping. I want us to discuss your feelings," Dr. Youngbeak said.

"I am feeling FANTASTIC, doctor! I'm always in a good mood when I'm about to escape!"

Dr. Youngbeak frowned, "Bud… I am trying to get you more spacious accommodations. You'll have to be patient."

"I am patient. A patient at this asylum, that is! Yes, Duckham Asylum. Nothing holds villains better than it does! Escaping takes time, energy, and effort, but nothing… especially not a jar… can keep in the Liquidator for long!" Liquidator continued to bubble and bob in the jar. The movement was starting to make Dr. Youngbeak dizzy.

It was clear to her that he wasn't going to stop talking about escaping. It was as if he was a recording on a loop. The hope of escaping seemed to be the only thing keeping him from having a total breakdown. Dr. Youngbeak looked down at her notes and took a moment to think. She needed to do something to help his mental state. If he went further into insanity, it would be much harder to bring him back.

She looked back at the jar of water. The expression had disappeared, but Liquidator was still babbling and bubbling on. She reached for the jar, which seemed to surprise the content inside.

"There is such a thing as personal space, doctor! Although, space is something the Liquidator is currently lacking!"

_What am I doing? _Her hand reached for the lid, _I could lose my job for this… people could get hurt, I could get hurt. But I can't let this continue any further. How would I be able to call myself a doctor if I don't do everything in my power to help my patients? This is all the board's fault. _

She gulped a little, hesitated, then opened the jar. All at once, water came shooting out of the jar like a geyser. It made a direct turn in the air and spilled out onto the floor, eventually forming Liquidator's dog-like shape. She stood but did not back away. She was afraid to show fear, but she was afraid. More afraid than she had ever been in her life. The water-dog stretched out and let out a bubbly chuckle.

_This was a stupid idea, _she thought, as Liquidator loomed over her, _Stupid. Stupid._

Liquidator's ears perked; a curious expression formed in the water. "Inquiring minds wish to know… Why?"

Dr. Youngbeak tensed, unable to help herself, "I wasn't sure how much longer you would last in there. As a doctor for the criminally insane, my job is to improve your mental condition, not worsen it."

"Who's more insane than everyone locked up in this asylum? Why, it's Dr. Youngbeak, criminal psychologist and psychiatrist! Nine out of ten doctors agree, you should never free a super villain!" Liquidator splashed around the room, cheerful, "But it is good to be free. I just knew I would be making my escape today!"

"Please, don't… Don't hurt anyone." Dr. Youngbeak studied him and knew right away how terrible of a mistake she made. He was going to do whatever it took to get out of the asylum, and even if he did have reservations about killing people, he certainly had none about seriously injuring them.

"I cannot make that a guarantee! Buuuuut, now, for a limited time only," Liquidator's watery arm shot out, smashing the tape recorder against the wall and into a million pieces. "A little insurance policy for the good doctor."

He winked before he splashed down into a puddle and slid underneath the door. She could hear guards yelling and chasing after him down the hallway. A guard and a medic came in a few minutes later to make sure she was all right.

"You okay, Dr. Youngbeak?" the medic asked.

"I'm fine, I'm fine…"

Later, she learned that Liquidator had caused a great deal of damage to the asylum and put at least three guards in the hospital. She decided, then and there, that no matter what the cost to the patient's sanity, she would never knowingly and willingly free a patient again.

* * *

><p>"Patient interview number twenty: Bud Fludd also known as the Liquidator. Our past few sessions have given me a lot of insight into Bud's psyche. Bud views every person as a potential customer for him to coerce or swindle into buying his products or even just to buy into every word he is saying. His whole world revolves around money and making the sale. I suspect, given a review of Bud's company records and business ethics, that he has been like this since even before he became the Liquidator. I am going to attempt finding out more about his family and his childhood. Apparently, he was born to a family of farmers, the fourth child of eight. I imagine he may have had to fight to get attention from his parents. Perhaps this explains why he tries to command attention from everyone he meets."<p>

Dr. Youngbeak walked down the hallways of Duckham Asylum, stopping at a door. She entered a security code and placed a hand on the handprint identifier. The door opened up to a large room with an almost empty tank taking up most of the space. Liquidator stood inside, leaning against the front side of the tank, waiting for her.

"Seasons greetings from the Liquidator, doctor! What's on our agenda for today?"

Dr. Youngbeak sat down in a chair in front of the tank.

"I'd like to discuss your childhood."

Liquidator's liquid ears perked in curiosity, "Now, why would the good doctor want to know about a little thing like that? My childhood wasn't exactly normal, but I can say it was a good one. I was as happy, then, as I am now! Perhaps the Liquidator can interest you in some other topic of discussion? My college years? I was THE number one hit at parties!"

Dr. Youngbeak looked over her notes, seeing that she had written several times over that, while Liquidator had a tendency to be direct with most topics, there were some topics, particularly those that tried to probe deep into his personal life, that he tried to avoid altogether. She jotted a few more notes about it and looked up.

"I am glad to hear your childhood was a happy one, Bud. I'm interested in hearing more about it. Often, it is our childhood that begins to shape us into the person we are now."

Liquidator's flowing movement stilled; his expression became fierce. "What do you mean by that? My parents had nothing to do with my choice to be a super villain. They raised all of us just fine. My sister, Bedelia, is even a cop in Duckburg."

"I didn't mean to imply that," Dr. Youngbeak said quickly, making a note to be more careful in the future. "What I meant is your childhood experiences, not necessarily involving your parents, has had some hand in shaping your outlook on life. For instance, you said you had a happy childhood. Perhaps it's that happy childhood that has contributed to your optimism about life."

"I see." Liquidator made no further attempt at conversation.

"Why don't you want to talk about your childhood, Bud?" Dr. Youngbeak asked, trying to read his expression. He seemed… worried.

"Because I don't want to talk about my family," he said, in a matter-of-fact way, "If you act now, you can still hear about my college years!"

A grin appeared back on his face, then. The worried look vanished.

"Liquidator, everything we say here is confidential. The tape recording is for the ears of doctors only. It helps supplement my notes, so that I and others can better devise a treatment plan for you," Dr. Youngbeak told him.

Liquidator hesitated. There was a short silence in the room, save for the sound of water dripping from his liquid body.

"My family and I aren't on good terms anymore, but still, I worry about them. I worry about their safety… It's not guaranteed when you're the relative of a supervillain, particularly a supervillain who works for Negaduck."

"Has he threatened your family?" Dr. Youngbeak said with expressed concern.

"No, no. Thankfully, he hasn't. He hasn't needed to. I work for him because his plans are brilliant, and he's a good leader, I must admit, even if he is the biggest jerk the world has ever seen." Liquidator paused, "But there are times I wonder…"

"You needn't worry about what hasn't happened, Bud. But I would suggest that it'd be best if you didn't work for Negaduck anymore. The longer you stay with him, the higher the chance will be that you'll get caught up in a situation where Negaduck might find out about your concern for your family's safety, and he might use that against you if you don't do what he wants."

"Oh, I couldn't stop working for him. I've grown quite attached to my teammates, as crazy as they drive me, sometimes. Negaduck knows that much. It seems the Liquidator is trapped in this business deal." The liquid canine filled the tank up with a little bit of water and rested on top of it, "So, what does the good doctor suggest I do, now?"

"You and your teammates are safe in here. The asylum is…" Dr. Youngbeak began but was cut off by the Liquidator.

"Is made of Grade-A cardboard. Negaduck could break in here easily if he wanted to. He just hasn't wanted to yet."

"I think you ought to give Duckham Asylum's security a little more credit. We are much better equipped than what that so-called supervillain prison had been." Dr. Youngbeak gave him a stern look.

"Yes," Liquidator agreed, "But that's not saying much. Duckham Asylum: It offers slightly better security than any previous prison before it!"

Dr. Youngbeak sighed, "I'm not here to argue with you, Bud. I won't press the issue of your childhood at this time. Instead, let's talk more about your relationships with your teammates."

A thoughtful expression crossed Liquidator's face. After a moment, he nodded. "How might I help the good doctor?"

"What do you think of them?" Dr. Youngbeak asked.

Liquidator's smiled wide, "They're my partners in crime! It's a partnership guaranteed to benefit all four of us. Quackerjack is the most imaginative; this is a skill which aids him quite well despite not having any super powers. He can go toe to toe with Darkwing Duck all the same, and he's a master of distraction! Megavolt provides all the sparks we could possibly want, as well as an electrical know-how that's second to none. With his powers and genius combined, he is the literal powerhouse of our little team. Bushroot also supplies a vast intellect and cunning, along with his mastery over all of plant life. He may be a little new to criminal undertakings, but he is not to be underestimated under any circumstances! And then, there's yours truly, the one, the only, Liquidator! I have it all… brains, brawn, super powers. I can lead, I can follow, I can destroy. Is there anything I CAN'T do? No, there isn't!"

Dr. Youngbeak tried not to gape at him during his little speech, but it took every ounce of her willpower. "Well, um… That was quite informative." She tapped her pen on her clipboard, "You seem to think very highly of your partners."

"And why wouldn't I?" Liquidator asked.

"I can't think of a reason why you wouldn't." Dr. Youngbeak looked over her notes and decided she needed to amend her previous assumptions. Bud Fludd did not care solely for himself and material possessions. He was loyal to his family, and it seemed he was loyal to his friends in the Fearsome Five as well. Still, if Liquidator's family's disapproval didn't steer him away from the life of crime, it meant that his loyalty to himself and to his money was greater than to his family and possibly his friends as well. She happened to glance at her watch while taking notes. There was still a few minutes left.

"I miss them, you know."

Dr. Youngbeak looked up, "Hmm?"

Liquidator had his watery arms crossed and was leaning against the side of the tank again. "My teammates… I miss them," he said.

Dr. Youngbeak gave him a stern look. Liquidator held up his watery hands, as if in surrender, and grinned.

"I wasn't going to ask you that again, doctor. Honest. But I was wondering if we could negotiate. I am grateful you have convinced the board to accommodate me, but it's lonely in here. I don't get a time in the rec room or lunch time. The guards make for poor conversation, and you only stop by once a week." Liquidator looked at her, hopeful, "Do you think you could arrange it, so that I could visit with them? Or at least one of them?"

"Your request might be a challenge, Bud. I'll have to get it approved by the board, of course, but I'll also need to make sure the other patients are okay with visiting with you. It's likely your visits will be monitored closely, if I can get this arranged at all," Dr. Youngbeak told him, thinking over how the board would respond to this new request. It seemed doable, but she could never be sure.

"You have my thanks, good doctor!" Liquidator made a motion as if he was going to reach out and shake her hand, but the tank stopped him.

"I'll try my best, Bud." She glanced at her watch, "It looks like we're out of time for today. I'll see you next week, same time."

"Perhaps or perhaps not! Who knows what lies in store when you're dealing with the Liquidator!" the liquid canine said, grinning while Dr. Youngbeak left.

* * *

><p>(Author's Note: This was the hardest freaking chapter I have ever had to write in my ENTIRE life! And I still think I did a horrible job. Just horrible. Feel free to stone me for this. Criticism is welcome, as always.)<p> 


	3. Bushroot

Dr. Youngbeak downed a cup of coffee in one of the staff rooms of Duckham Asylum. She let out a tired sigh. Her job was becoming more demanding than what she had thought it would be. Most of her off-hours revolved around pouring over her notes and audio tapes, trying to make sense of the way her patients' minds worked. She had always believed in working hard and doing one's best, but she was exhausted. She glanced at the time and got up from her seat. She made her way down the halls of the asylum and into her office. She pulled out her notes from her file cabinet and sat at the table. She turned the tape recorder on.

"Patient interview number one: Dr. Reginald Bushroot. Reginald has, surprisingly, been very cooperative with the staff here at Duckham Asylum since being brought in. The knowledge he has of how his body works is extensive, and he's provided the doctors with everything they need to know. I suspect that the reason for his cooperation is due to not wanting to be poked and prodded in the laboratory, and I can't say that I would blame him for that. It would seem that, at this time, finding medicine that Reginald's body can metabolize will be difficult, but at least the doctors have something to go on. Psychologically, Reginald will be an interesting case. He does not have a long record of criminal activity. It's astounding that he could go from being a respected professor at St. Canard University to supervillain without any noticeable warning signs."

She heard a knock on the door. Bushroot was brought in by two guards. His movement was kind of sluggish, almost as if he was sedated, but she knew that wasn't the case. He was being given a bare minimum quota of light from a sun lamp each day to keep him weakened and, therefore, less likely to be in a condition to escape the asylum. She watched the guards take their positions against the wall, and she sighed.

"Must you stay?"

"He could still be dangerous, ma'am. It's our job to keep you safe," one of the guards replied.

"I'm not dangerous," Bushroot said, half glaring and half sullenly glancing at the guards.

Dr. Youngbeak flashed an apologetic smile in Bushroot's direction, then nodded to the guards. "Very well."

At her response, Bushroot gave her a similar look that he had given the guards. Dr. Youngbeak's expression went neutral and showed no sign of slipping.

"How are you doing today, Reginald?"

Bushroot paused a moment, his eyes widening a little. He slumped in his chair. "I'm in here, aren't I? I can think of a million other places I'd rather be right now." He paused again, "It's been a while since someone's called me Reginald."

"Duckham Asylum isn't the most pleasant place in the world to be, true. But it is an asylum. Think of it as a place where you can take refuge from the world. A place where people see you more as a person than a super villain. We're here to help you."

Bushroot looked unconvinced, "If you saw me more as a person than a super villain, you wouldn't have me locked up in here."

"We have to take special precautions for the safety of everyone involved," Dr. Youngbeak said, "But one of our goals is to separate your normal identity from your super villain identity. Thus, I will be referring to you by your first name, instead of your last name, since your last name is too closely tied to your super villain identity."

Bushroot shrugged but seemed to relax a little, "Well, I suppose that's better than being seen as a monster."

"You're not a monster, Reginald."

"Thank you, Dr. Youngbeak." Bushroot smiled a little.

"You're welcome. Now, do you know why you're here?" Dr. Youngbeak asked.

Bushroot's expression went sour again. "Yeah. I'm here because Darkwing Duck doesn't know how to stay out of my way." He clenched his leafy fists, "He's always butting in where he shouldn't. I can't do anything without…"

"We're not here to talk about Darkwing Duck. We're here to talk about you, Reginald," Dr. Youngbeak said, "The reason you are here is because of your own actions and your own problems."

"Oooh! You're just like all the others. You think Darkwing Duck is some kind of saint, but you don't know what he's really like. Your so-called 'hero' has humiliated me, mowed me down, mulched me, and even froze me, and he…" Bushroot said, clenching his leafy fists.

Dr. Youngbeak listened to him patiently, waiting for him to get it all out of his system. By the time he finished, he looked even more exhausted than he was when he came in. He looked at her, expecting some type of response after his long-winded rant about Darkwing Duck. Dr. Youngbeak took that as her sign to continue the session.

"Do you feel better, now?" she asked.

Bushroot blinked and looked a little confused, as if he really hadn't expected her to say that. "I, well, um… I guess."

Dr. Youngbeak smiled, "That's good." She wrote down a few notes on her clipboard.

"What are you writing about me?"

Dr. Youngbeak looked up from her notes. Bushroot held a wary look in his eyes. It surprised her that he had asked that since most patients seemed to just accept it as part of the doctor routine. She put the clipboard on the table and slid it over to Bushroot. The guards against the walls shifted a little, seeming on edge.

"You can have a look if you want. I have nothing to hide from you, Reginald." Dr. Youngbeak watched him as he read what little notes there were on the clipboard. After a short moment, he passed the clipboard back to her. The guards relaxed. Bushroot appeared thoughtful.

"I think you're probably right. I think I do have a lot of… pent-up frustration," he said, "It's hard being a plant-duck, sometimes."

"I imagine so. If you ever feel the need to let out some of that frustration, let me know. My job is to help you, and I think it would be beneficial if you talked about the things that are causing you to feel this way." She paused a moment, then added, "I would like you to try to keep the focus on yourself, if you can. Think of this as your personal time. You don't want Darkwing Duck to be the focus of the time that rightfully belongs to you, do you?"

"I guess not." Bushroot leaned against the back of the chair and sighed. "It's not my fault that I'm frustrated, you know."

"I never said it was. We can't help how we feel. Feelings aren't bad in and of themselves. It's what we do when we're feeling a certain way that can be good or bad or, as I like to say, constructive or destructive," Dr. Youngbeak said, studying Bushroot's expression and mannerisms. He looked tense a lot, as if he was waiting for her to say something offensive.

"You think what I do when I'm feeling upset is destructive, don't you?" Bushroot said, looking at her with accusation in his eyes.

"I didn't say that, Reginald." She spoke in a gentle, calming tone in an attempt to relax him. "Do you think what you do when you're feeling upset is destructive?"

Bushroot's expression revealed surprise, then frustration. He seemed to struggle with finding something to say for a while before exclaiming, "No!"

Dr. Youngbeak noted that Bushroot appeared to be a very defensive individual. She suspected he wasn't being entirely honest with himself, but that was something to address at a later time. "You know yourself better than I do. I'll take your word for it."

"You will?" Bushroot blinked. It seemed like he wasn't quite sure what to make of her.

"Yes." She glanced at her watch, "Our session is over with for today. I will see you next week, Reginald."

"Um, okay," Bushroot said before he was led out the door by the two guards.

* * *

><p>"Patient interview number two: Dr. Reginald Bushroot. The guards have reported nothing but good behavior from Reginald. He does not struggle or complain when he is led anywhere by the guards, and he does not taunt the guards or other patients. Still, from this report, it would seem that Reginald has been in a constant state of depression. He does not talk to anyone, and he shows no interest in rec room activities. I believe Reginald would benefit from taking an anti-depressant, but the doctors have yet to find a suitable medication for him. In the meantime, I hope talk therapy will help ease his depression a little." Dr. Youngbeak did a quick review of the report and her notes while she waited for the guards to bring Bushroot in.<p>

There was a knock on the door. The guards opened the door and brought Bushroot inside. Once again, they took their places on opposite sides of the wall. Dr. Youngbeak folded her hands on the table. "Hello, Reginald. How are you feeling today?" She could already guess the answer.

"Miserable." It was all Bushroot had to say. His head was lowered, so Dr. Youngbeak couldn't read the expression on his face.

"I see," she said, "What are you thinking about right now?"

"I'm thinking about how dark and terrible this asylum is and how much I want to see the sun again." Bushroot's voice came out as a flat monotone with just a hint of anger behind it.

"Hmm, I like that you put it that way, Reginald." Dr. Youngbeak watched him tilt his head up to look at her. His expression was almost comical; he looked so confused.

"What? I just told you that I think this asylum is dark and terrible. What's so likable about that?" He was starting to look frustrated, now.

"But you also told me how much you want to see the sun again, and I think that's what you need to focus on. Instead of thinking about how dark and terrible things are, why don't you think of the things that make you happy? It might make you feel better," Dr. Youngbeak told him.

Bushroot sighed, "I don't think that'll work, Dr. Youngbeak."

"Why don't you think it will work?" she asked.

"Because… it'll just make me think of everything I don't have right now and make me more miserable." He rested his head on his leafy hands and sighed again.

"I don't want to make you more miserable, but why don't we try it, anyway, and see what happens, hm? What makes you happy?" Dr. Youngbeak readied her pen.

"Fine," Bushroot groaned. "Plenty of sunlight, fertilizer, and water make me happy. Maybe a little soft music. I like Spike, my flytrap. I'd like to have friends with intelligence or even better… a soul mate to share my life with." He paused after a moment, "See? I don't feel any better. I'm still stuck here, and I feel worse than I did before." He gave her a brief glare before averting his eyes from her.

"Like I said, I don't want to make you more miserable. How about this… would you feel better if we had some soft music playing in your cell?" She looked down at her notes, "We could probably get a hold of some fertilizer for you, too."

Bushroot glanced back at her, looking a little hopeful. "Really? You think you could do that?"

"I'll have to run it by the board, but I don't see why they would object. We want to make your stay here as comfortable and soothing as we possibly can. Everyone working here at Duckham Asylum wants to be your friend, Reginald," Dr. Youngbeak said, meeting his eyes in order to express her sincerity.

Bushroot raised an eyebrow. "Well, it is nice of you to do that for me, Dr. Youngbeak, but I still don't think anyone here really wants to be my friend. A real friend wouldn't want me to be unhappy. They'd let me out of this dark, miserable place."

Dr. Youngbeak felt like they were going in circles. It always seemed to come back to him wanting out of the asylum.

"I'm sorry that you feel that way." She decided to take the discussion in a new direction. "Reginald, what do you do when you're unhappy?"

Bushroot was taken aback. "What do I do when I'm unhappy?"

"Yes. That's what I asked."

"Well, nothing much, really, I guess. I'll talk to my plants…" He shrugged.

"Does talking to your plants make you feel better?" Dr. Youngbeak asked, scribbling a couple of notes on the clipboard.

"Sometimes. They don't really understand what I'm going through, though. It'd be nice to talk to a friend with intelligence, but… nobody wants to talk to a mutant plant-duck." His blue eyes expressed sorrow.

Dr. Youngbeak had to remember that Bushroot was a unique patient, and his claims about being able to communicate with plants were real. It was hard to believe, but it was true. She found herself feeling sorry for the plant-duck. He had done some terrible things, but it was clear that he was deeply in need of help.

"That's not entirely true. I want to talk to you."

Bushroot shrugged, "Yeah, but that's your job, isn't it?"

"Yes, but why do you think I chose this sort of job? I chose it because I like talking to people and helping them through their problems." Dr. Youngbeak smiled at him.

He didn't smile back, but he seemed less tense. "You… seem like a very nice person, Dr. Youngbeak."

"Thank you, Reginald. That's a nice thing to say." She happened to glance at her watch while writing notes. "It looks like our session is over with for today. I will see you next week."

"Okay," Bushroot said before he was led out the door by the two guards.

* * *

><p>"Patient interview number ten: Dr. Reginald Bushroot. Reginald is continuing to respond well to his new medication. He appears more alert, and he has taken an interest in rec room activities. So far, there have been no reported side-effects. This is very encouraging news. Reginald is still unhappy about being in the asylum, but I believe he is becoming more accepting of it. He has opened up to me considerably in these past few weeks. I think talking to me about what frustrates him has been significant in helping his mental state." Dr. Youngbeak thought for a moment, glancing over her notes. "Since I have begun to establish a trusting doctor-patient relationship with Reginald, I am going to try to broach what will no doubt be difficult subjects for him. By doing this, I hope to gain further insight into his psyche, as well as help him along with his healing process."<p>

The guards came in after knocking on the door. They had Bushroot sit down in a chair in front of the table, then took their usual places against the wall.

"Hello, Reginald," Dr. Youngbeak said, smiling at him.

"Hello, Dr. Youngbeak." Bushroot gave her a sort of half-smile.

"Today, I'd like to talk with you about some things that might be difficult for you. Would that be all right?" she asked.

Bushroot's expression was near unreadable. Then, he looked hesitant. "I don't know…"

"It's okay if you don't want to talk about them at this current point in time, but I would like to talk with you about these things eventually. I think you might find it as helpful as letting out your frustrations to me." Dr. Youngbeak watched him struggle with making a decision. Finally, he sighed.

"Let's give it a try."

"I appreciate your cooperation, Reginald. Now then, why don't we start with what happened at St. Canard University? You used to be a well-respected…" She was interrupted.

"Well-respected?" Bushroot shook his head, "I don't know what news report you listened to, but that couldn't be farther from the truth. I was _never_ well-respected. The only respect I ever got was from Rhoda, and even that's probably gone, now."

"I see." Dr. Youngbeak took down some notes, "That must have been very frustrating, going to work each day and no one appreciating what you do."

"It was," Bushroot said but declined to say anything further.

"Would you say your work environment was hostile?" Dr. Youngbeak asked.

"Yes. Dr. Gary and Dr. Larson were always picking on me, always trying to sabotage my experiments, or get me in trouble with the dean. I never got a moment's peace with them around. They made it hard for me to concentrate. They just made life difficult…" Bushroot's body tensed for a moment, then relaxed. He wore a cold expression, "But I took care of them. They won't be making my life miserable anymore."

Dr. Youngbeak kept her expression neutral and directed her eyes to her notes. She hadn't seen Bushroot look so hardened and sound so cold before. It was quite a change from his usual demeanor. The way he had looked was reminiscent of some of the killers she had talked with in her previous job. She decided to move the conversation away from murder for the moment.

"Despite all of the trouble they caused, you still found it in you to keep going. What made you keep going?" she asked.

Bushroot's expression lost its hard edge. "Well, there was my work, my research. It was very important to me. And then…" He sighed, "And then, there was Rhoda."

Dr. Youngbeak, once again, kept her expression neutral. She was feeling sorry for the plant-duck in front of her again. If his research and one girl had been the only things in his life that mattered to him, it was no wonder his life had taken such a downward spiral after everything that happened at the university.

"I think I'm getting a clearer picture of what happened to you at the university," she said, "But I still have a few more questions. Do you consider yourself an impulsive person or a planner?"

"Well, I guess I'm a planner. I tend to think things through before acting," Bushroot said, looking thoughtful.

"So, had you been planning since before you were fired from the university to murder Dr. Gary and Dr. Larson?" Dr. Youngbeak asked.

"Before? Well, no. I mean, I thought about it lots of times, but I hadn't considered doing anything until after they sabotaged my experiment and got me fired in the first place." Bushroot watched her, looking a little on edge.

"I see. What about abducting Rhoda? Was that planned?" Dr. Youngbeak kept her tone of voice level and her expression neutral. She had noticed he was getting anxious.

"No! I mean, I wasn't… I didn't mean to… It would've been much different if Darkwing Duck hadn't gotten in the way!" Bushroot fidgeted in his seat.

"How would it have been different?" Dr. Youngbeak asked.

"I wanted to do things the normal way. I was thinking maybe a candle-lit dinner, maybe some dancing. Stuff like that." Bushroot stopped fidgeting. "I don't know what happened. I think I just got too excited, maybe I panicked a little bit because of Darkwing Duck. He's the one that ruined everything."

Dr. Youngbeak ignored the bit about Darkwing Duck, having already written in her notes that Bushroot had a tendency to place blame on him for some of the things that went wrong in his life. "It sounds like you get carried away, sometimes. Can you think of any other instances in your life where you might have gotten carried away?"

Bushroot seemed to relax since the conversation had drifted away from Rhoda. He shook his head. "No, I can't think of anything. I used to be…" He paused. "I _am _pretty well in control of myself."

"Do you really believe that?" Dr. Youngbeak asked.

"Of course, I do! Why would I say it if I didn't believe it?" Bushroot said, narrowing his eyes.

"Sometimes, we say things we don't believe in order to make ourselves feel better, Reginald. It sounds to me like you've suppressed a lot of emotions over the years, and what happened at St. Canard University was a catalyst that caused all of those suppressed emotions to come out all at once. I think that you're continuing to keep your emotions unsuppressed and unchecked, which can be as bad for you as suppressing too much." Dr. Youngbeak watched Bushroot's expression soften a little bit.

"Maybe you're right. Maybe I did suppress a lot of emotions before I became a plant-duck. But I don't see any reason why I should go back to that. All it did was get me pushed around. Well, no one's going to push me around, anymore." He glanced at the guards in the room, then sighed. "Not if I can help it, I mean."

"There's a healthier way to keep your emotions in check while not letting yourself get pushed around. It doesn't have to be one extreme or the other, Reginald."

"Healthier? I think I'm healthy enough as it is, at least when I'm not stuck in a dark asylum where the only light I ever get to see comes from a sun lamp." Bushroot looked annoyed.

"I did not mean to offend you. I was only going to suggest a different method for handling your emotions," Dr. Youngbeak said.

"I handle my emotions fine, now," Bushroot said.

Dr. Youngbeak noticed that time for the session was up. She sighed. "All right, Reginald. I won't push the issue. Ultimately, it is up to you to decide how to handle your emotions." Her eyes went to her notes to look them over. "Time is up for today. I'll see you next week."

"Fine." Bushroot was led out of the room by the two guards.

* * *

><p>"Patient interview number twenty: Dr. Reginald Bushroot. Reginald was brought in two days ago after a two month-long period since his escape. Duckham Asylum security is uncertain of how he managed to escape, but since they suspect plant life may have been involved, there has been a new rule that no plants of any kind are allowed within the asylum's walls, no matter how far away it may be from Reginald's cell. Today, I will talk to him about his escape." Dr. Youngbeak gathered her notes and wait. Soon, there was a knock on the door, and Bushroot was led in by two guards.<p>

"Hello, Reginald. It's good to see you again," she said but didn't smile. She kept her expression neutral since it appeared that Bushroot was not only depressed but also agitated.

"Sure, it is. I'm sure everybody is so happy to see me locked up in here again," he said. His words were angry, but his face expressed only misery.

"That's not what I meant. As your doctor, I am concerned about your well-being. It is good to see you here again because I can be assured you will be getting the treatment you need," Dr. Youngbeak explained in a calm, level voice.

"If you're so concerned about my well-being, then you'd let me out of here. Oh, why do I even bother? It's not like you're going to listen to me," Bushroot said, the misery deepening on the features of his face.

"I'm not going to let you out of here, but I am going to listen to you. That is one of the things I do is listen. I'm here to help you, Reginald."

"I don't need help, especially not from a place like this," Bushroot said, an annoyed expression replacing his miserable one.

"Why do you think that?" Dr. Youngbeak asked.

"Because… this is an insane asylum. Maybe people like Megavolt and Quackerjack belong here, but I certainly don't. I have all of my reasoning intact. I don't do crazy things like… strap people to electric chairs or something."

"What if they made you angry?" Dr. Youngbeak asked.

Bushroot stared at her a moment, unsure of how to answer that. His eyes lowered. He muttered, "I'm not crazy."

"Perhaps you're not," Dr. Youngbeak said.

Bushroot looked up, puzzled.

"I don't choose who comes into the asylum, Reginald. That sort of thing is left up to court and the recommendations of court psychologists. It's simply my job to help some of the people in here." Dr. Youngbeak set her clipboard down, "Do you want to know what I see when you come into the room?"

Bushroot nodded slowly and uncertainly.

"I see a sad, lonely duck who has made some bad decisions in his life and wants desperately to be accepted and loved," Dr. Youngbeak said.

Bushroot said nothing. He looked back at her, his eyes filled with unshed tears.

"Now, doesn't that sound like a person who needs help?" Dr. Youngbeak asked.

"M-maybe," Bushroot said, his voice soft. He straightened up, "But I still don't think I belong here."

"I'm glad you've at least acknowledged that you might need help. It's a step in the right direction."

Bushroot seemed less agitated now but no less depressed. Dr. Youngbeak hoped that once he was put back on his anti-depressant he'd feel better again. After a small moment of silence, she spoke up.

"Why don't we talk about how you've been feeling since you've escaped the asylum. I know you've mentioned several times that you missed being in the sun."

"I missed my plants, too. They're the only friends I have, and I'm the only one that takes care of them. Without me there, they can't get everything they need," Bushroot said.

Dr. Youngbeak frowned because she knew there was nothing she could do about that. She supposed she could volunteer to take care of his plants while he's in the asylum, but when would she find the time? It just wouldn't work out. She was sure now that nothing would make Bushroot stay in the asylum if he could help it, not when he needed to take care of his friends outside of the asylum.

"That is definitely a problem," Dr. Youngbeak said.

"Yeah," Bushroot said, "I'll admit that, well… I missed being able to talk to you. It's nice having someone with intelligence listen to me. But other than that, I really hate being in this place."

Dr. Youngbeak was surprised by his admission. That was definitely a big step forward. It almost made her excited, thinking that maybe, just maybe… she was making well-paced progress with him.

"Well, Reginald, I'm always happy to help you in anyway that I can. I'm sorry that your stay at the asylum keeps you away from your friends," Dr. Youngbeak said.

Bushroot sighed.

"Would you say you were happier outside of the asylum walls? Or do you think you feel about the same or worse?" Dr. Youngbeak asked.

"Well…" Bushroot hesitated, "I know that I am happier outside than inside, but I guess… it seems like misery follows me no matter where I go."

"That must be very sad for you," Dr. Youngbeak said.

"It is. I just wish things would go right in my life for once, you know? Sometimes, it seems like I'll never get what I want." Bushroot had a hopeless expression on his face.

"Sometimes, we don't get what we want out of life. We just have to make the best with what we have," Dr. Youngbeak said. The guards indicated to her that time for the session was up. She sighed. "Well, Reginald, it looks like our session is up for today. I'll see you next week."

Bushroot left the room, still looking hopeless but much less depressed and agitated than he was when he came in.

* * *

><p>"Patient interview number twenty-seven: Dr. Reginald Bushroot. Reginald has been put back on his anti-depressant and has shown some signs of improvement. I believe I have gained a great deal of insight into his psyche. He appears to suffer from loneliness, low self-esteem, and he has emotional control issues. While the incident at St. Canard University was no doubt the catalyst that brought all of his problems to the surface, I believe that the problems themselves may have originated from his childhood. So, today, I plan to talk to him about his childhood in hopes of gaining further insight into Reginald's issues." Dr. Youngbeak waited for Bushroot to be brought into the room. A few minutes later, the guards brought Bushroot to her and had him sit down.<p>

"Hello, Reginald," she said, looking up from her notes.

"Hello, Dr. Youngbeak," Bushroot said. He didn't appear to be angry or upset, but it was clear he wasn't happy, either.

"Today, I'd like to talk to you about your childhood," Dr. Youngbeak said.

Bushroot frowned. "My childhood wasn't a very happy one. I'd really prefer to just forget about it."

"It's hard to forget about something like that, though, isn't it? I wanted to talk to you about it because it's often the experiences in our childhood that shapes us into the people we are today. It would help me get to know you better. Plus, I think you might find it therapeutic," Dr. Youngbeak said.

Bushroot glanced around for a moment, then sighed. "Well… I guess I don't have anything better to do."

"I'll try to take it slow for you. Let's start by telling me what makes you think your childhood was unhappy," Dr. Youngbeak said.

"Well, I didn't have a normal childhood. I didn't grow up with my mom and dad like most kids do," Bushroot said, twiddling his leafy fingers.

"And that made you unhappy?"

"It wasn't that, exactly. It's just… I never got adopted. I would always behave and do my best in school. I tried to be the perfect kid. But it didn't work. For some reason or another, I always ended up getting moved to a different foster home. It's like…" Bushroot paused and closed his eyes. He took a deep breath, then opened them again. "It's like nobody wanted me." His voice came out a little shaky with emotion.

Dr. Youngbeak wrote some notes on her clipboard. It was no wonder Bushroot was so desperate to be loved. He had never really felt loved to begin with.

"That must have been very hard for you as a child," she said, "Was there ever a time when you were happy?"

Bushroot thought hard before answering, "Some of the homes I was in were nice. I enjoyed school. I guess you could say school made me happy. All of the teachers liked me, anyway." He narrowed his eyes after a moment. "But even there, I experienced misery. Kids were always picking on me, bullying me. I had trouble making friends…"

"You seem like a likable person, Reginald. Why do you think you had trouble making friends?"

Bushroot blinked, seeming surprised. "You think I'm likable?"

"Yes. You're probably one of our best behaved and cooperative patients, escapes not withstanding. Is there something wrong with what I said?"

"Well, no. It's just nobody has ever told me that before," Bushroot told her.

"I see." She scribbled some more notes. "Back to the question… Why do you think you had trouble making friends?"

"I'm not really sure. I guess one of the reasons is because I'm shy. I have trouble approaching new people. And I guess another reason is because, well, I was so different from the rest of my peers," Bushroot said.

"Different how?" Dr. Youngbeak asked.

"Most kids don't like school like I do, and most kids didn't appreciate plants the way I did, either," Bushroot said.

"Have you always been interested in plants, Reginald?" Dr. Youngbeak asked.

"Yeah. I guess you could say I feel a special kinship with them, even before I turned into a plant-duck. Plants don't really bother anyone, and all they want is to be cared for."

"When you were unhappy, did you talk to plants, then, too?" Dr. Youngbeak asked.

Bushroot nodded. "They didn't talk back obviously, but it still helped me feel better to talk to them."

"That's good. Have you ever had any non-plant friends?" Dr. Youngbeak watched him think for a second.

"Well, there's the others in the Fearsome Five, not including Negaduck. I have a little trouble getting along with Megavolt and Quackerjack because they're so crazy, but they seem to like me well enough, and that's more than what I can say for the rest of the population of St. Canard," Bushroot said.

Dr. Youngbeak paused for a moment in her writing. It struck her as interesting that the members of the Fearsome Five minus Negaduck all considered each other friends. There was a period of silence. Finally, she thought of more questions to ask.

"What were the homes you were in like? You said some of them were nice. Does that mean some of them weren't?"

Bushroot's expression turned grim. "Yeah. Some of them weren't very nice at all."

He didn't elaborate any further.

"Were you ever abused or neglected in any way?" Dr. Youngbeak asked.

Bushroot averted his eyes and didn't say anything for a while. Dr. Youngbeak made her tone of voice gentle and soothing.

"We don't have to talk about that right now, if you don't want to. I understand that some things can be very difficult to say. Let's change the subject. Why don't you tell me what the happiest moment in your life was?"

Bushroot was still quiet, as if he was lost in thought. Finally, he responded.

"I think the happiest moment in my life had to be when I got accepted into college. It was good to finally be out of the foster care system and have a future ahead of me." Bushroot paused. His bill started to quiver, "But all that's gone now."

He looked like he was about to cry. Dr. Youngbeak tried to think of a way to comfort him. The poor plant-duck seemed to have lived a rough life all around. She once again found it hard to accept that such a duck could be capable of criminal activity.

"It's not all gone. You still have your memories to hold onto and cherish. There's still plenty of time for you, too. There's no telling what the future may have in store for you, Reginald," Dr. Youngbeak said.

"You're just trying to cheer me up," Bushroot said, but his bill stopped quivering. He seemed a little calmer now.

"Yes and no. I do mean what I say," Dr. Youngbeak said.

Bushroot lapsed into thought again. Dr. Youngbeak noticed that time for the session was up.

"It looks like it's time for you to go, now, Reginald. I'll see you next week," she said.

The guards started to lead Bushroot out of the room. He looked back at the doctor. "Dr. Youngbeak?"

"Yes, Reginald?"

He hesitated a moment. "Thank you for trying to help me."

Dr. Youngbeak smiled. "You're welcome."

The guards led Bushroot out of the room. Dr. Youngbeak looked through her notes, feeling a sense of accomplishment since she was actually managing to get through to one of her patients.


	4. Quackerjack

Dr. Youngbeak looked through the record of her next patient with frustration evident on her face. There was hardly anything there to work with other than the patient's criminal background. There was no record of his real name, his family, school… Nothing. It was almost like the patient just popped out of nowhere one day and started committing crimes. Dr. Youngbeak put her fingers to her feathery temples and rubbed slowly. She could already tell this was going to be a tough case.

"Patient interview number one: Quackerjack. Unfortunately, at this time, there are very few records about this patient. The good news is that Quackerjack appears to be an ordinary duck. This will make accommodating him easier than some of the other patients." Dr. Youngbeak thought for a while, "I'm going to try to glean as much information as possible from him in today's session."

She waited for the guards to bring Quackerjack to her. After a moment, several guards filed in, followed by Quackerjack, followed by more guards. Dr. Youngbeak tried to keep from gaping at the number of guards that had filed into the room. They were all lined up against the walls of the room, not one space against a wall left opened. Quackerjack sat in front of her with a child-like grin on his face. She noticed he was still wearing one piece of his costume: his hat. Dr. Youngbeak stood, picked a guard, and led him outside the door.

"What is the meaning of this? There is no reason this many guards should be in this room. And why is the patient still wearing a part of his costume? It's against asylum regulations!" Dr. Youngbeak gave the guard a stern look.

The guard looked away from her. "Well, uh, you see, um… Quackerjack is very dangerous. We tried to get his hat off, but he wouldn't stop kicking and screaming, not even after we sedated him. He bit poor Charlie's ear off. The other docs thought it would be best if we just let him keep his hat. Anyway, we need this many guards to keep him under control."

Dr. Youngbeak stared at him, then sighed. "Fine. Fine! Let's get on with this, then." She couldn't believe she was going to have to talk to a patient with so many guards listening in. It was going to next to impossible to try and establish a comforting atmosphere. She re-entered the room, only to find Quackerjack sitting in her chair. She gave the guards a disapproving look before sitting down in the chair that was supposed to be Quackerjack's.

"Hel-," Dr. Youngbeak began but Quackerjack interrupted her.

"Hello, Miss Youngbeak! How are we feeling today, hm?" He was speaking with a German accent, and he had in his hands the clipboard that belonged to her. Dr. Youngbeak tried not to show that she was agitated by this.

"I'm feeling fine, thank you. Could you please give me back my clipboard?"

Quackerjack considered this a moment, then shook his head. "I'm afraid I can't do that. It's against asylum regulations, you understand."

"Quackerjack…"

"My name is Dr. Lederhosen," Quackerjack said, unable to keep himself from grinning.

"I'm the doctor here, Quackerjack. You are the patient. I can have the guards escort you back to your cell if you do not cooperate with me," Dr. Youngbeak said.

Quackerjack frowned for a brief second, then he grinned. "All right, Miss Youngbeak. Even though it's against regulations, I suppose it wouldn't hurt for you to have a looksie." He handed the clipboard back to her.

"Thank you, Quackerjack," Dr. Youngbeak said, then frowned. On the clipboard's notepad, Quackerjack had scribbled some very inappropriate images. She turned the page and readied her pen.

Quackerjack pretended to write on an invisible clipboard. "The patient suffers from delusions. She believes she is a doctor, and that I am the toy-maker known as Quackerjack."

Dr. Youngbeak sighed, wondering if she should continue conducting the session or if she should have the guards take Quackerjack back to his cell. Determined to try and get as much as she could out of the session, she decided to let him stay for the time being.

"How are you feeling today?" she asked.

"I am feeling fine. Wonderful. But this session isn't about me, Miss Youngbeak. It is about you and these delusions you suffer from. Tell me, when did you first start having these delusions?" Quackerjack asked. He continually tried to keep a straight face but failed each time.

"I'm the one conducting this session, and it's about you, not me," Dr. Youngbeak said.

Quackerjack gave her a condescending little smile. "Well, if that's what helps you cope, I wouldn't have it any other way."

Dr. Youngbeak tried to keep her expression neutral, but she found that she was quickly getting aggravated. She tried telling herself that Quackerjack couldn't help himself, and that made her feel a little better. "Do you know why you're here?"

"Yes. I am here to help patients like you get better. I can see right away that you are going to be a very difficult case, Miss Youngbeak."

Dr. Youngbeak suppressed a groan. She could see that she wasn't going to get anywhere with Quackerjack today.

"Guards, please escort Quackerjack back to his cell," she said.

The guards lined up and led Quackerjack out of the room.

"We'll make an appointment for next month, Miss Youngbeak! Bye, bye!" Quackerjack shouted.

Dr. Youngbeak looked down at her clipboard. She hadn't managed to write anything down. She readied her pen in order to write something down but nearly dropped it when the alarms sounded. She ran out the door in time to see the guards all chasing after Quackerjack. His laughter echoed down the hallway.

* * *

><p>"Patient interview number two: Quackerjack. Our last session together was a disaster. I didn't manage to gather any information about Quackerjack at all. I am hopeful that this session will be different. We have, for the time being, put Quackerjack on lithium because we suspect he may be suffering from severe mania. Time will only tell whether this helps stabilize Quackerjack in any way." Dr. Youngbeak waited for the guards to bring Quackerjack in. She still couldn't believe that so many guards were needed to keep one ordinary duck under control.<p>

Soon, the guards filed in, followed by Quackerjack, followed by more guards. The guards had Quackerjack sit at the table, then took their places against the walls.

"Hello, Quackerjack. How are you feeling today?" she asked.

"Ooo, fabulous! I've gotta say this is a nice place you've got here, doc. A little lacking in the color department, but still…"

"That's good enough. We're not here to discuss the asylum's décor," Dr. Youngbeak said.

"Oh. That's too bad because I was thinking this room would look great in stripes and polka dots." Quackerjack giggled.

"Now, do you know what you're doing here?" Dr. Youngbeak asked.

"Taking a vacation?" Quackerjack said, taking a sudden interest in the tips of his fingers.

Dr. Youngbeak thought about this. "I suppose you could see it like a vacation, yes. Duckham Asylum is a place to take refuge from the outside world."

"Oh! Oh! Are you taking complaints? Because I have one. The food here? Talk about yuck! It's goopier than silly putty. I didn't think that was possible. Oh, and the pudding tastes like play-doh. I should know. I've eaten play-doh plenty of times to know what it tastes like." Quackerjack nodded to himself.

Dr. Youngbeak scribbled some notes. She noticed that Quackerjack appeared to have a very disconnected pattern of thinking, quickly jumping from one topic to the next, regardless of whether it connected to the previous topic or not. She thought for a moment that it could be indicative of schizophrenia but she'd have to have more sessions with him to be sure.

"Let's move the conversation away from food. I want to talk about you. We've tried finding records on you, but we haven't succeeded just yet. It's like they've all been destroyed or have gotten lost. The most we've been able to find is information about the toy company Quackerjack Toys, but since it's gone out of business, employee records are difficult to find. Would it be possible for you to supply information such as your real name and date of birth?"

"Hmmm… It IS possible, but I don't think I want to tell you." He attempted to cross his arms, but the handcuffs he had on impeded this action somewhat. He stuck his tongue out at her.

"Very well. I can't force you to give me information if you don't want to. Why don't we talk about what sort of things you like to do in your spare time?" Dr. Youngbeak asked.

"I'm a toymaker. What do you think I do in my spare time? Sell Junior Woodchuck cookies? Actually, I tried trading toys for the cookies once, but those Junior Woodchucks ran away from me. Nobody seems to appreciate quality merchandise anymore." He gave a little huff.

"Do you feel underappreciated?" Dr. Youngbeak asked, wondering if she was finally getting somewhere.

"Oh no. My toys appreciate everything I do for them. I couldn't be more appreciated!" Quackerjack leaned in close, "Do YOU feel underappreciated, doc?"

Dr. Youngbeak frowned, not liking that he turned the question back on her. "This session isn't about me. It's about you, Quackerjack."

"Keep saying that," Quackerjack said, in a sing-song sort of voice.

"You don't still think you're Dr. Lederhosen, do you?" Dr. Youngbeak asked.

"Maybe I do. Maybe I don't." Quackerjack leaned back in his seat.

"Do you often think you are other people?" Dr. Youngbeak watched Quackerjack intently. It seemed like he never stopped grinning. It was a little unnerving.

"Well, it would be so BORING if I was just one person all the time. Why be one person when I can be two or three or several?" Quackerjack said.

"Doesn't that get tiring, being more than one person?" Dr. Youngbeak asked.

"Hmm. Nope." His grin seemed to get a little wider for a moment before settling back into his usual grin.

"I see." She scribbled down some notes. "What do you think about yourself, the real you?"

"I think the real me is a lovable, cuddly toymaker who loves to make things go boom. Don't you just want to kiss me?" Quackerjack asked, leaning in close again.

Dr. Youngbeak blinked, then she tried to ignore what he just said. "I think it's a good thing that you consider yourself lovable."

"Do you think I'm lovable, doc?" Quackerjack's eyes glinted with mischief.

Dr. Youngbeak frowned. "Does that really matter? The important thing is that you love yourself."

"Is that a yes or a no?" Quackerjack asked, challenging her.

"You are my patient, Quackerjack. I wish to help you and be your friend. Nothing more, nothing less," Dr. Youngbeak said.

Quackerjack frowned for maybe a few seconds before grinning again. "You really like to suck the fun out of things, don't you?"

"We're not here to have fun. We're here to help you get better," Dr. Youngbeak told him.

"We're not here to have fun. We're here to help you get better," Quackerjack mocked. "Too bad, so sad. I'm going to have fun, anyway." Suddenly, he jumped up on the table and grabbed onto the fluorescent light above him. He started swinging around like a monkey.

"Weeeeeeee!"

"Get down from there!" Dr. Youngbeak said, though Quackerjack paid no attention. "Guards!"

The fluorescent light fell and smashed into the table causing the room to become pitch black. There was mass confusion among the guards as they tried to figure out where Quackerjack was. Dr. Youngbeak sat very still in her seat, a little frightened by the pandemonium. There was a sound of the door opening, flooding the room with light. Quackerjack escaped out into the hall, laughing all the way.

* * *

><p>"Patient interview number ten: Quackerjack. I'm afraid I have still made little progress with Quackerjack. He has started to freely give me details about his life, but with each session, he changes his story, so I cannot be sure what is truth and what is fiction. The lithium does not appear to be helping his mania, so we have switched him onto a few anti-psychotics. I hope that this helps calm him down. Once again, I'm going to try to make the most of my session with Quackerjack."<p>

There was a knock at the door, then the guards filed in, followed by Quackerjack, followed by more guards. Quackerjack sat down in front of her. He was not smiling. Somehow, this was even more unnerving than his constant grin. Dr. Youngbeak kept her expression neutral.

"Hello, Quackerjack. How are you feeling today?" she asked.

Quackerjack glared at her and said nothing.

"You look upset. Is something wrong?" Dr. Youngbeak asked.

"Is something wrong? Is SOMETHING wrong? I'll tell you what's wrong. I'm locked up in here, me, the most beloved toymaker in the whole world, while Whiffle Boy is out there rotting children's brains with his STUPID video games! Oooooh! He makes me so angry!" Quackerjack slammed his hands down on the table. "And what's worse is he laughing at me behind my back. I KNOW he's laughing at me. I can hear him laughing at me when I sleep. Stupid, stupid Whiffle Boy! I want to wring his pixilated neck, I want to stomp on his precious video games, I want to KILL HIM!"

Dr. Youngbeak was surprised by his angry outburst. She scribbled down some notes. "Quackerjack… I want you to take a few deep breaths to calm down."

"Calm down? CALM down? I don't think so! That's what you want me to do. You're working for him, aren't you? Don't lie to me! I can see it in your face! You work for Whiffle Boy! You want me to become a mindless video game obsessed zombie just like the rest of the world. Well, it won't work on me, no way, not ever. I'm going to play with my toys forever, and nobody is going to stop me!"

"I do not work for Whiffle Boy, and I don't want to force you to do something you don't want to do. I want you to take a few deep breaths and count to ten. You can count to ten, right?"

"Of course I can!" Quackerjack said, narrowing his eyes. "One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten."

"Do you feel better now?" Dr. Youngbeak asked.

"No!" But he said nothing more, settling in his seat. He continued to glare.

"Why don't we talk about something other than Whiffle Boy? Let's talk about something you like. Toys. How does it make you feel when you play with toys?" Dr. Youngbeak asked.

"It makes me feel great, of course…" His bill slipped into a hint of a grin, then his expression darkened and the grin disappeared. "But you don't want me to play with toys. You won't let me have toys in my cell. You'll only let me play with the toys in the rec room, and I hardly ever get to go there!" He looked as though he were going to throw a temper tantrum at any moment.

"Well, we did let you have toys in your cell at one time, remember? It was last month. We only stopped letting you have toys in your cell because, somehow, you managed to rig explosives into the toys you had," Dr. Youngbeak said, a stern note in her voice.

"Oh yeeeah…" Quackerjack's grin came back, and he started laughing as though he had just remembered a great joke. Dr. Youngbeak was startled by the sudden laughter and switch in his mood. It didn't last long. "That doesn't change anything! You took my toys away from me, my friends…" Quackerjack's eyes narrowed. "My friends… What about my pal, Sparky? What have you done with him? I don't see him anymore."

It took a moment for Dr. Youngbeak to realize who Quackerjack was talking about. "Elmo is fine. I've decided that it would be best if I kept you two separate, especially after what happened two weeks ago."

Quackerjack trembled with rage. "You won't let me see Megsy anymore? You… you…"

His eyes seemed to get wide before he lunged at her and wrapped his hands around her neck. Dr. Youngbeak struggled to get him off of her, but his grip was too strong. She couldn't breathe.

The guards were quick to act. It took five of them to pull Quackerjack off of her. Dr. Youngbeak coughed and held her throat. She watched the guards struggle with Quackerjack a moment before they carted him off back to his cell. One guard stayed behind.

"You all right, Dr. Youngbeak?" the guard asked.

"I'll be fine." She rubbed at her throat.

Despite the incident, she was determined to help Quackerjack and decided to continue seeing him as her patient.

* * *

><p>"Patient interview number twenty: Quackerjack. Quackerjack has still shown no sign of responding to his medication. His mood is as unstable as ever. We still haven't found any more records on him. I have made little headway into understanding Quackerjack's psyche, but I haven't given up. Today, I plan to talk with him about his childhood." Dr. Youngbeak sighed and wondered if she was just wasting her time. She heard a knock at the door and quickly strengthened her resolve. Surely, she could learn something about her patient.<p>

The usual assembly line of guards and Quackerjack filed into the room. Quackerjack was made to sit down. He was grinning as usual.

"Hello, Quackerjack."

"Hiya, doc. You're looking as fuddy-duddy as usual," Quackerjack said, snickering a bit.

Dr. Youngbeak paid no attention to the insult. "Today, I'd like to talk with you about your childhood."

Quackerjack's bill formed into a mock pout. "Aw, come on. Haven't we been through this before?"

"You've given me bits and pieces of information about your childhood, but we've never directly talked about it. And I'd like you to give me the truth. I can only help you if you're truthful with me," Dr. Youngbeak told him.

"Fiiine." Quackerjack looked thoughtful. "When I was a kid, mommy used to read me bedtime stories and bake cookies and send me to school with a pat on my head."

Dr. Youngbeak flipped through her notes and sighed. "Last time, you told me your mother left you and your father, and the time before that, you told me your mother was hardly around because of her job as a CEO."

"Oh, but this time, I mean it. She had to keep me company. After all, my father worked the graveyard shift… at a cemetery." He grinned wide.

"You said your father was a zookeeper and a ringmaster for the circus."

"And he worked at the cemetery."

"Your father worked three jobs?" Dr. Youngbeak held a doubtful tone in her voice.

"Five. He was also a party clown and a pizza delivery boy." Quackerjack looked like he was having fun making things up.

Dr. Youngbeak tried to keep her cool. "Let's move the subject away from your parents. I want to know how you felt about your childhood."

"It was boring, of course. None of my toys exploded like they do now," Quackerjack said.

"So, would you say you were under stimulated as a child?" Dr. Youngbeak asked.

Quackerjack giggled as if she had said something funny. Dr. Youngbeak gave him a stern look.

"Oh, doc. Don't look so serious. You really need to lighten up," he said, giggling some more.

"Answer the question, please."

"What question?" Quackerjack asked, trying to look innocent.

Dr. Youngbeak did not allow her frustration to be evident on her face. "You said your childhood was boring. Was that because you were under stimulated as a child?"

"If by under stimulated, you mean my childhood was lacking in explosions, fire, and pointy objects… then, yes. I was very, very under stimulated," Quackerjack said as if that was a perfectly natural thing to say.

"Where did your fascination with such dangerous things come from?" Dr. Youngbeak asked, trying to read his expression. The grin remained constant and showed no sign of slipping from his bill.

"Doesn't everybody love a good explosion every now and then? I mean, look at how popular fireworks are," Quackerjack said.

"So, you were always fascinated with that sort of thing, then?" Dr. Youngbeak asked, scribbling some notes.

"Always have been, always will be!" Quackerjack said cheerfully.

"What about your childhood friends? Were they also fascinated with dangerous things?" Dr. Youngbeak asked, trying to gauge his reaction. She was wondering if his childhood had been lonely for him or not.

"Hm. I can't remember." Quackerjack shrugged his shoulders.

Dr. Youngbeak was not discouraged. She pressed on.

"What were your childhood friends like?"

Quackerjack was as evasive as ever. "Don't know. But that's not important, is it, doc? The important people in my life are the buddies that I have now. Don't you agree?"

"Well, yes… But sometimes, the past…" Dr. Youngbeak began, but Quackerjack swiftly interrupted her.

"Sometimes, the past can give us insight into who we are today," he recited. "Yak yak yak, blah blah blah."

Dr. Youngbeak blinked and thought for a bit. Was it possible that Quackerjack had training in psychology or maybe he had a previous history with doctors in the past? She was uncertain, and it was unlikely that she would get a straight answer from him.

"Do you ever take anything seriously?" She asked this question so suddenly, it surprised her.

Quackerjack stared at her for a moment. Then, he giggled. The giggling gradually grew louder until it was full-blown mad laughter. The guards in the room shifted uneasily. Dr. Youngbeak tried to keep her discomfort from showing. Finally, the laughter died down. Quackerjack tapped the side of his head.

"You're not very bright, are ya, doc?" he said.

Then, out of nowhere, he pulled out Mr. Banana Brain.

"I'd say she's quite dumb, chum!" Quackerjack said in a high-pitched voice for the doll.

Everyone in the room looked alarmed at the appearance of the doll. It probably wasn't the appearance of the doll that startled them so much as what Quackerjack had the doll holding: a gun.

"Why, Mr. Banana Brain! Where did that gun come from?" Quackerjack said, sounding shocked.

"You don't wanna know, Joe!"

Dr. Youngbeak tried to remain calm, even though, the gun was pointed straight at her. The guards looked like they wanted to spring into action, but were clearly afraid that Quackerjack might shoot the good doctor.

"Quackerjack… Please tell Mr. Banana Brain that he needs to put the gun down. Slowly." She tried to make her voice sound firm, but it wavered.

"I don't think so! Mr. Banana Brain is my pal, and he's going to bust me out of here! Aren't you, Mr. Banana Brain?" Quackerjack asked the doll.

"You bet, Chet! So, nobody better make a move or the doc gets it!" Quackerjack stood and began walking backwards until he was out of the room.

Dr. Youngbeak sighed in relief when the gun was no longer aimed at her. The guards quickly went outside the room after Quackerjack.

* * *

><p>"Patient interview number fifty-one: Quackerjack. This will be my final session with Quackerjack. I can no longer tolerate his mood swings, his rude behavior, his constant escape attempts, and the threats he's made on my life. Furthermore, after all of this time, I have still made little head-way with this patient. I only wish I had realized sooner that I would be incapable of providing Quackerjack with the appropriate therapy and treatment that he needs. If I had known, I would've stepped down much earlier. He will be transferred to the care of our new doctor, Dr. Warbler, next week. She has even more years of experience dealing with the criminally insane than I have. I am hoping that she will have better luck with Quackerjack than I have had."<p>

She waited for the guards to bring Quackerjack in. A few minutes later, they arrived with the criminal clown in tow. Quackerjack was forced to sit down in front of her. He looked extraordinarily pleased with himself.

"Hello. How are you feeling today?" Dr. Youngbeak asked.

"Great as usual, doc," Quackerjack said, a big grin on his bill.

"I'm sure you've been informed by now that today is our last session together. How do you feel about that?" Dr. Youngbeak asked.

"I feel accomplished."

"Accomplished?" Dr. Youngbeak raised an eyebrow.

"Why, yes… I KNEW you would get tired of me eventually. This is just proof that I was right!"

"I'm not tired of you, Quackerjack. You are being transferred because I feel that you would be much better off in a different doctor's care," Dr. Youngbeak said. It was partially the truth.

Quackerjack laughed. "All you docs are the same. You want us patients to be truthful with you, but you won't be truthful with us. Tsk, tsk. You should be ashamed."

Dr. Youngbeak tried not to get aggravated. This was her last day with Quackerjack. It would be best if she made it count as much as she could.

"You don't trust doctors very much, do you?"

Quackerjack shrugged. "You don't trust toymakers very much, do you?"

He was turning the question back on her again. She hated it when he did that.

"Let's move on." Dr. Youngbeak flipped a page over on her clipboard and readied her pen. "Is there anything you wanted to say to me? Since this is our last session together, it will likely be the last time we will ever talk again."

"Hmm. Let me think. You take things too seriously, your outfit is lacking in color, you have a big beak, you smell like old people, and you're an idiot." Quackerjack looked thoughtful. "Yep. That about sums it up."

"Do you have anything you want to say to me that isn't an insult?" Dr. Youngbeak asked, keeping her expression neutral.

"Nope!" Quackerjack's grin remained constant.

Dr. Youngbeak sighed. "Very well. Why don't we talk about how you relate to other people? Your friends in the Fearsome Five… how do you think they see you?"

"And why should I tell you that? You've talked to them. You should know how they see me." Quackerjack crossed his arms, or attempted to, since his actions were impeded by his handcuffs somewhat.

"Yes, but I want to hear what you think," Dr. Youngbeak said.

"I think you need to come up with better questions. These questions are boooooooring." Quackerjack faked a yawn.

"Why are they boring?" Dr. Youngbeak asked, determined to get something out of this session.

"See? This is why you're an idiot. You can't figure anything out for yourself. I have to explain things to you over and over again. That's just boring, boring, boring." Quackerjack's eyes were narrowed in annoyance, but the grin remained ever-present.

"Well, why don't you tell me what an interesting question is, then?" Dr. Youngbeak asked.

"Well, you've never asked me what my favorite ice cream flavor is," Quackerjack said.

Dr. Youngbeak sighed again. "Your favorite ice cream flavor isn't going to help me help you, Quackerjack."

"Sure, it is. You just tell the nice lunch ladies here that I like butterscotch ripple ice cream, and everything will be fine." Quackerjack rubbed his hands together and licked his bill.

"You're not going to cooperate with me today, are you?" Dr. Youngbeak asked.

"You're the one not cooperating, doc. I mean, you can't even ask me one interesting question," Quackerjack said.

"Guards, take Quackerjack back to his cell…"

The guards moved to get Quackerjack to stand up. Quackerjack immediately latched onto the table. "Noooooo… I don't wanna go yet. I'm not done playing with Dr. Youngbeak…"

The guards tried to pry him off the table. The table was dragged across the floor as Quackerjack refused to let go. Finally, they managed to get him to let go of the table. They led him out of the room. That was the last time Dr. Youngbeak saw Quackerjack as her patient.


End file.
